Dearly Beloved
by Willowmere
Summary: It’s Rilla’s wedding day, and Anne has a very special surprise for her daughter. A short story .


Dearly Beloved 

It's Rilla's wedding day, and Anne has a very special surprise for her daughter. (A short story).

Disclaimer: The characters featured in this story respectfully belong to Lucy Maud Montgomery.

Anne Blythe, after wallowing in a short sentimental cry over Rilla's impending nuptials—"the same Rilla who had the endearing lisp and adorable chubby knees"—went to her mirror and dried her wet grayish-green eyes. "How silly I've been," she said to herself with a small laugh. "I've prepared myself for this inevitable day, and grown accustomed to the idea of my baby being a woman about to wed, but I could not preclude my tears; they had a will of their own." When her handkerchief had sufficiently eradicated all moisture, Anne walked to her vanity. There was a special something she had to present to her youngest daughter before the said daughter was permanently changed by a sweet promise uttered by solemn faithful lips, and a binding kiss united two enamored hearts.

Rilla Blythe surveyed herself in her mirror and gasped. Was that actually her reflection—that tall woman gowned in white, with a filmy veil adorning her head? Was that really she who gazed back at her, with pleasant anticipation glimmering in her hazel eyes, a grin at the corners of her mouth, and a bloomy sparkle on her round cheeks? It seemed impossible. Several years of agonizing woe and suffering made her present joy feel like a fleeting dream. But it _wasn't_ a dream. It _was_ possible to be this tremendously joyous and optimistic. _Perhaps a tiny bud of my new gladness has sprouted_, she thought wistfully.

The soon-to-be wife pinned in her chestnut hair a fresh cluster of dainty blossoms that had been clipped from Walter's apple tree. "There! The finishing touch."

She looked around the room nostalgically. This haven of hers was strewn with memories. It had harbored her fancies, hopes, and fears. Here was where she had penned the majority of her diary accounts, when thoughts and emotions were best expressed unspoken. "As Mother would say, this is an epoch in my life," she had written early on this exceptional morn. "I'm entering a new phase of my adulthood. In it, Ken and I will be as one. I shall never truly be alone again, for the holy ceremony will join us forevermore, and together, we will meet the challenges, sorrows, and joys of this world."

Rilla studied a small snapshot that was nestled in the trunk she had packed.No, it wasn't of the lad with dark hair and dreamy smoky eyes. She was focusing on another picture—a picture of a tall angular individual with snow-white hair. Her features, though stoic and hard in days of yore, were relaxed and softened due to a very feisty redhead, whose offspring were the recipients of the tenderness and love that had been discovered beneath the austere exterior. A smile was on the woman's aged face, and a well-known oval jewel was clasped at her throat. Two words entered Rilla's thoughts: _Aunt Marilla. _

Vague recollections swept across her mind of that dear lady. Marilla Cuthbert's voice faintly resonated in her ears as she recalled the tuck-ins at Green Gables, and the whiff of plum puffs that wafted from the tidy kitchen. Rilla regretted that she hadn't been able to form a deeper relationship with the woman whose name she shared and who meant so much to the family. "Just think, Gilbert," Anne had once said, " I wouldn't be the person I am—and I might not be with the person I _adore_—if Marilla and Matthew hadn't taken me in at a desperate time in my existence."

Footsteps beckoned Rilla from her reminiscing. In stepped Anne. The war had taken a toll on her spirit and strength, but Anne looked and felt younger and gayer than she had in many a day as her starry eyes rested on her daughter, clad in her snowy exquisite attire. "Oh, Rilla, you're absolutely beautiful," the matriarch of the house said in an awed, unsteady voice. "You look as beautiful as I'd always imagined you would." Mrs. Blythe emitted an involuntary sniff. "I . . . I can't believe my littlest girl is the first bride of Ingleside."

"Mother, don't you start that, too," Rilla implored. "Visits from kith and kin have already induced red noses."

"There _has_ been a trickle of well-wishers making there way here often."

"A trickle? More like a _flood_," laughed the betrothed femme. "While I've been preparing myself for my groom, I've been swamped with the presences of ecstatic persons. Most recently, I had to shoo Nan and Di out my door. Those sisters of mine were so engrossed in the details of my grooming that they had barely started on their own."

Anne peered out the window. "What a stunning day you have for your wedding, Rilla," she announced jubilantly. "The sky is drenched with the harbor's blue, and there isn't a cloud in sight."

"Thank heavens for that," Rilla replied in relief. "You should have seen me last night, an insomniac praying that unwelcome rain wouldn't force me to move the ceremony from Rainbow Valley." For Rainbow Valley was her ideal spot to proclaim her wedding vows. To the Blythe family and their closest friends, it was a magical immortal dell, bursting with the echoes of carefree laughter and olden talks. It was a dale of secret haunts and hidden nooks, wherein had been held precious walks and the antics of blissful youth.

Rilla adjusted her veil and picked up her bouquet. "This is it--I'm ready to become Mrs. Kenneth Ford." "Mrs. Kenneth Ford"—a tremble glided over Rilla's entire being at the sound of those three marvelous words.

"You're not ready _quite_ yet," Anne said with a mysterious twinkle in her gray eyes. "Close your eyes," she commanded her daughter. "And don't dare peek and ruin my fun."

There was a commotion by Anne's fingers as she gently tugged at the lacy material. "That tickles!" the bride exclaimed merrily. "Mother, what _can_ you be doing?"

"Look in the mirror and see for yourself," declared Mrs. Blythe triumphantly.

Rilla did as was requested and astonishment swam over her. Fastened at her chest was a glimmering lilac heirloom. "Aunt Marilla's brooch," she said softly and tremblingly, putting her fingers to the treasured object. She had always had an especial fascination and liking for it. Anne had narrated the history of the brooch to all her brood, but it had been Rilla in particular who had clamored to hear the tale regularly. "Oh, Mummy, I'm tho glad it didn't drown in the glittery lake," she had been wont to lisp contentedly.

"It's . . . gorgeous," Rilla said, still stunned. "You know how greatly I admire it. I'm honored to wear it." She delivered a grateful kiss on Anne's cheek. "Thank you for lending this to me, Mother. This covers the 'something borrowed' part of the old wedding adage, doesn't it?"

Anne smiled enigmatically. "How can it possibly be borrowed when it's your to keep?"

Rilla's face was a rendering of incredulity and bemusement. "To . . . to keep? But, Mother, Aunt Marilla would--"

"Would prefer that you own it," her mother finished.

"How can you be sure?"

"Because she told me many moons ago that the brooch was to belong to you." Anne grasped the speechless Rilla's palm and drew her to the lounge, where they sat down. "It was during a sojourn to Green Gables, when you were a wee tot of three, that I learned of her wish. One Sunday, as we prepared to go to church, you looked up at Marilla, and your hazel eyes lit with delight. You asked what was 'glowing purple' on her dress. Marilla sat you on her lap and explained that it was a brooch, a very special piece of jewelry that had belonged to her mother. You were asked if you liked it, and Marilla laughed when you nodded your head emphatically, eagerly saying, 'yeth.' She permitted you to try it on, and inquired if you would be happy to have it some day. You said --"

" 'Very much, Aunt Marilla,' " interrupted Rilla, her eyes rapt, and her voice low, "and I embraced her tight before leaving to tell Father."

"You _do_ remember!" exclaimed Anne, clasping her hands, as was her old habit.

"I . . . didn't . . . initially," Rilla slowly responded. "The foggy memory started to rekindle as you described the incident. It's really true . . . the brooch is mine?" asked the dubious maiden.

"Of course, it's yours, darling," assured Anne with a hug.

Rilla glanced down at the shimmering gem she wore. "I can't believe Aunt Marilla passed down her brooch to me. You've told me how it was dearly beloved by her."

"But you and your siblings were _more_ dearly beloved. Marilla wanted all you children to have something to remember her by, and since you showed an apparent fondness for the brooch, this is what she decided you would inherit." Anne blinked back persistent teardrops as she thought of the conversation she'd had with the frail older woman prior to her departure into celestial regions. "It was requested by her that I bequeath the violet trinket to you on your wedding day, as a gift from her. Your Aunt Marilla would be very proud to see you wearing it at you're matrimony."

Rilla picked up the photograph of the elderly personage and gazed at it reverently. "Thank you, Mother," she said, after several seconds of silence.

"For what, my Rilla?"

"For bringing Aunt Marilla closer to me. You've helped to define an instance that I had nearly forgotten. I will cherish it eternally, as I will the pin that she affectionately regarded." Rilla faced the mirror again in her bridal apparel. She was complete on the outside—and she felt more fulfilled within. Marilla wasn't as distant to her any more. Their time together may have been brief, but they _had_ developed a connection--an irrevocable connection. The longstanding amethyst brooch was proof of that.

The End 

A/N: Thanks for reading! The amethyst brooch was never mentioned again in the seven Anne books after _Anne of Green Gables_, so I wanted to do a story on its fate. I thought it would be appropriate that another Marilla possess it. Please let me know what you think. J


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